Sick Day

It started on Monday. My voice slowly began to fade away. At first, I thought it was just from a combination of talking all day and straining my voice even more in practice after school. By the end of the day, I could barely talk. Tuesday morning I woke up to a sore throat and a stuffy nose, and I was no better on Wednesday.

By Thursday morning, I felt like crap. My throat still hurt, my voice was barely audible, and both of my ears hurt. Not to mention I was exhausted, as usual. I began devising a plan for taking a sick day. I couldn't just call in sick, because I had never submitted my emergency lesson plans like I was supposed to, so there was nothing for a sub to do with my kids. But I certainly wasn't going to make it through the day. I needed to see a doctor before it got any worse, and I couldn't wait until after school. So as I drove to school that morning, I called our secretary and asked her to find me a sub for at least half a day, if not the full day. I explained that I was on my way to school to prepare for the day and put on my most pathetic voice possible (well, that wasn't too much of a stretch) to emphasize my desperation.

Lo and behold, our administrative assistant came through. I spent homeroom period typing up a quick sub plan and making sure everything was in place. I didn't tell my kids I was leaving until the substitute arrived, for fear that something would go wrong and my dreams would be dashed. She finally showed up about 5 minutes into first period, and I was so grateful. I knew I needed this day off both for my physical health and my sanity. I felt a little guilty walking out the door, but mostly just pure, sweet relief.

And that's how I know I've grown so much since last year.

Last year, when I finally broke down and took a mental health day (it wasn't until February, I believe), I was terrified. Terrified of leaving my class in someone else's hands, terrified of how excited the kids would be to have a break from me for a day, and terrified that they wouldn't want me to come back. Terrified that the substitute would comment on the lack of procedures in my classroom, and the chaos that ensued as a result. And terrified that one day would derail us for the rest of the year.

Last year, I felt so guilty about taking a day off that it almost hurt. I didn't want anyone to think I was a slacker or a pansy. I obsessed over losing a day's worth of pay of an already embarrassingly low salary. How could they not pay me, when all I was going to do was curl up in my bed and work anyway?

My, how things have changed.

Oh, there was certainly still chaos while I was gone. I got reports of students crawling on my floor pretending that they were in war, shooting imaginary weapons at each other with the appropriate sound effects. Students plucking paper at each other with rubber bands. Talking during their quiz. "Joaning" and making fun of each other. And carrying their craziness into other classrooms.

I still felt a small sting of annoyance at losing a day's pay, especially as I forked over the co-pay for urgent care and for an antibiotics prescription.

So...wait. How exactly have things changed, you ask?

I forgot all about my paycheck as I drove down Roanoke Avenue in the middle of the day, enjoying weekday sunshine for the first time in weeks. I finally got to get my oil changed, make a trip to the post office, and beat the after-work crowd at Walmart. I felt productive in a way that wasn't at all related to work. Last year, I worked from 7:30 am until bedtime, using my sick day as a "work-all-day-to-catch-up" day instead. There was no rest, no relief, and no sense of satisfaction.

Before I left school Thursday, my sweet homeroom babies, they begged me not to go. I even had one kid offer to pay me to stay (I will admit I hestitated at this one). Last year, I can guarantee you that most kids were high-fiving the second they found out I was absent.

When I went back on Friday, many of the kids greeted me with words such as, "Thank goodness you are back, they was bad yesterday, they never woulda acted like that if you was here! Please don't ever leave again." Last year, I bet my kids would have been praying for another day with out me. And let's be honest. They way the acted with the sub...well, that's pretty much how they acted with me.

This year, even the principal stopped to tell me that the chaos was not my fault; that there were clearly procedures in place, they were just not carried out appropriately. And of course, 12 year olds will be 12 year olds if no one tells them otherwise. Last year, it was most definitely my fault (at least in part).

This year, when I had conversations with the "troublemakers" from the day before, they hung their heads in embarrassment instead of grinning mischeviously at their victory. My kids know that Miss H don't play.

Obviously, I would have preferred to come back to reports that everything went perfectly, that the students had stepped up and led the class, and that there didn't even need to be an adult in the room because my babies knew exactly what to do. That would surely be the mark of an incredible teacher: one whose expectations can be carried out even when she is absent.

But I'm also a little bit thankful that my kids acted the way they did, because it reminded me of a few things. First, that no matter what the kids say, they need structure, and they like it. The number of kids that complained about the lack of control on Thursday was proof enough that they like knowing what to expect and how to act.

Second, that I've come so far from where I was this time last year. Not just as a teacher, but personally. I was able to make a sound decision about what was best for me, and it didn't take me until February to see that I needed a break. And no matter what may have happened while I was gone, it couldn't make me feel guilty for taking that day off. I needed it, so I took it. Act like zoo animals, for all I care...I needed drugs (antibiotics, of course).

And third, a little ego boost never hurt anyone. It was nice to know that my kids would never dream about behaving that way if I was there, and that they actually cared about my reaction when I got back. And that other adults recognized that it was not my lack of procedures that was the problem.

It all kind of reminds me of one of my favorite childhood books, Miss Nelson is Missing. Remember that book? So good.

This weekend, I have the house to myself in Roanoke Rapids. I'm using the quiet to really rest. I'm still not 100% better, but the down time has helped me recoop and allowed me to get ahead on my work this week so I can rest during the week, too.

As Rihanna says, "Cheers to the freakin' weekend."